Me, Myself and I
by angstkitten
Summary: Harry is depressed, set after OotP, has spoilers sorta. Rated for violence, just to be safe.


I don't own Harry Potter or characters. This fic is based on a poem my friend wrote, enclosed at the bottom. --chelsea

* * *

I stare out my window. It's pitch black outside. I hear thunder. I can smell the rain. It smells sweet, but bears foreboding. It isn't comfortable. Like the weather wants to tear at me and my heart, to rip me apart and laugh. The wind picks up, then stops. It happens again. I can see Hedwig coming back as lightning flashes. Though it is miles away, I feel the heat. I feel uneasy and a little sick. Hedwig has come in and I close the window part way. Just in case Pig or another owl is out and needs shelter.

I lean against the wall behind my bed looking blankly at my clock. My eyes are unfocussed, and glazed. They don't see the time, or tell my brain. I inhale and exhale. I feel myself drifting into slumber. I don't try to stop it, but can't reach it. As though, subconsciously, I don't want to sleep.

I haven't slept all summer. Sirius is gone. Forever. I have no one left, no reason to live. No future hopes, no dreams of happiness. Of a loving family. I wish I could sleep never to awake, to just die peacefully.

I've lost my appetite. I don't even eat the carrot sticks or half grapefruits from Aunt Petunia. I'm dying of starvation and sleep deprivation. Slowly. Too slowly.

I want to die and end it all. No one would notice any way. Ron and Hermione are together and hardly write me. I write nearly every day, pretending I'm fine. Pretending I eat, pretending I sleep. Pretending I care, or think any one else does. I wish it would just end. I want to help it.

I have been. I have a knife, a sharp one. Aunt Petunia's best. It's under the bed. I keep it there, except when I use it. I use it on the rough days. When no one writes, or Dudley tries to beat me up, which is everyday. He dose. I let him. I don't resist, but when I do that, he thinks I'm going to kill him or something. He chickens out and runs away. Someday I should stumble across Dudley's little passé. Let them beat the life out of me. As long as I die quickly. I might ask Dudley if they use weapons. Knives or guns.

I use the knife near, but not quite on essential arteries or veins. Dudley's noticed scars, but doesn't question. Aunt Petunia looks the other way. Uncle Vernon couldn't care less.

I feel the scar within myself. The scar of a tortured, helpless soul. Trying to escape. I try to let it go, but I just can't. I try to force it out, but it won't budge. My life is a mess. A mockery and joke. No one in the Muggle world knows I exist. Everyone in the Magic one does. But hardly any know me, and none care about me. Hagrid doesn't write. No one at Grimould does either. I've not seen Mrs. Figg or her cats all break.

Why? I look back out the window. The rain begins to fall. With it, so do my tears. I cry for hours, wailing with the wind for Sirius. Sobbing through the thunder.

Morning breaks, but the rain continues on. I sit now, just staring vacantly out the window. July is over, and August dies with me. Next week is September first. I've received only two birthday presents. One from Grimould. Hermione and the Weasleys. The other from Hagrid. Both with treats I haven't touched. Would they notice if I didn't go to breakfast? Would thy care? Would I be missed at school? On the train?

Aunt Petunia knocks on the door. I don't move Hedwig hoots in reply. Aunt Petunia says stiffly, "Breakfast," and walks away. I stay where I am. Against the wall, my chin on my knees. I sit here all morning, without interruptions. I could have killed myself last night, and no one would know, I'm so neglected.

My aunt and uncle pay me no mind. My cousin only uses me for his punching bag. My so-called friends are having a jolly time together, never writing, never caring.

I finally move. Hedwig doesn't even notice. Even my owl doesn't care about me. Oh well. She's just jumping on the band wagon with every one else.

I reach under my bed to the loose floor board. I pull it out and reach in the hole, pulling from within, the knife. I take it in my right hand and slit my left arm, near the shoulder. I switch hands and do the same on my right arm. Then I pull it from my left ear to my chin and right ear to chin. I stand and bleed, the blood making me more hot and sticky than before.

I often wish I could stop afterwards. But as I do it, I feel better. As though a new me is coming through.

I'm feeling light-headed. I vomit on my floor. I lift the knife from the stomach bile, and place it to my left wrist. But I can't cut. Why? This will be the end. Finally. I slit the wrist and switch. Both wrists pump blood from me now. I 'm getting dizzy. Somehow, I'm on the floor, face down in my bile and vomiting again.

From some where I hear a knock. Aunt Petunia announcing lunch, no doubt. Distantly Hedwig hoots. I hear a voice say something, but what, I can't tell. Alarms go off in my head. "Say 'help'! Call for help! Harry, you _idiot_! Get help!" I barely understand, and don't want help. But my mouth acts on its own. "Help," I think I whisper.

Another knock. "Harry?" The world begins to spin. I can't see straight. I hear dim screaming and running. I smirk, and pass out.

* * *

My eyes open. I'm in a bright room. A person is standing over me. He speaks to me, telling me I've lost a lot of blood and infected myself with the dirty knife. I have little time to live.

I begin to get scared. I cry. I cry for Sirius. For Lupin. For Mum and Dad. For my friends. I'm terrified want comfort, from someone. Anyone. Someone stands over me, with sad eyes. They ask me "Why?" I want to answer, but can't. The light headed dizziness is coming again. I close my eyes and think, "I'm better off this way." I die.

* * *

Now I'm in Heaven. I look down on the Earth. I see people crying. For me. Only a few, but better then none. Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred, George, Bill, Charlie, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Moody, and Hagrid.

Sirius is here, but is pissed that I would do so selfish of a thing. "How could you have been so blind?" he asks repeatedly. I cannot find the answer.

* * *

**__**

ME MYSELF AND I

Everyday I watch the rain hit the ground

Wondering why am I so neglected by everything

Just Me Myself And I

I cry alone knowing that no one cares about my tortured soul

Now realizing that no body would notice if I died

Just Me Myself And I

I now absolutely know that I am better off being dead

Know at night on rough days which is every day I cut my wrist

Just Me Myself And I

I feel a scar inside of me, trying to find the door out of my life but I can't

I now realize by cutting myself every day I can't stop and in a way I feel a better me

Just Me Myself And I

So here I am alone in the hospital wondering why I'm here

The doctor came in and said I have lost so much blood I only have a few hours to live

Just Me Myself And I

Now I'm in heaven and people proved me wrong, but only a few really noticed I wasn't there

So know I'm an Angel in the sky crying to myself asking myself how could I have been so blind?

Just Me Myself And I


End file.
